Race of Scorpions - Dorothy Dunnett [313]
‘For what? For your father’s death? But you know now that Niccolò had nothing to do with it?’
‘He will think he had. He will think he killed Katelina. Katelina warned Messer Niccolò. She said one of the family would come looking for vengeance. She said that unless one of us could get to him first and explain, he should go into hiding.’
‘Niccolò?’ said Primaflora. She smiled. ‘I know he will want to do whatever that poor lady wanted, but I don’t think he should stay locked up in Famagusta for ever. Suppose I take you to your grandfather now? The guards will let me in.’
‘They were prepared to let me in,’ Diniz said. ‘The vicomte won’t see me.’
‘Ah,’ said Primaflora. ‘Then perhaps we should wait, and I shall try. Go back to the villa. If the vicomte consents, I shall send for you. After all, he is only one fat and elderly man. I don’t really think he could succeed where a Mameluke emir lost his life. Leave it to me.’
He felt some uncertainty. But she spoke with conviction, and he thought that, from curiosity, his grandfather might very possibly see her. And, of course, she could defend her husband better than he could. He left, and found and told his story to Loppe, who received it with almost no comment. Then he waited, but Primaflora didn’t send for him. He was planning to go back to the Palace when, the following morning, vander Poele and John le Grant rode in, on either side of the Patriarch of Antioch.
Hooded and cloaked against rain, their shapes and condition were hardly discernible. But the doctor stood still, saying nothing, and after a moment dragged off his cap, presenting his scalp to the rain. He said, ‘Jordan de Ribérac’s here. Get down. There’s a bed made up. Has anyone seen you?’
‘Nothing,’ said vander Poele, ‘compared to the numbers who are about to see me. I have to go to the Palace. I’ve just to change.’
‘Who says?’ said the doctor. His face had turned red.
‘The King’s mother, apparently,’ vander Poele said. ‘The Patriarch is to take me.’
’Take you both, said the priest. ‘You and the boy.’ He bent an undisturbed scowl upon Diniz. ‘Are you thanking me? I saw your father’s corpse off from Rhodes.’
‘I would thank you,’ said Diniz, ‘if you took me to see my grandfather.’
‘Done!’ roared Ludovico da Bologna. ‘And I’ll take a good dinner off you in payment. He’ll be in Cropnose’s chamber by now, and itching to see you and your battered friend here. It was Cropnose’s idea. A nice family reunion. Be sure to thank her.’
‘I suppose,’ vander Poele said, ‘the Lusignan know all about nice family reunions. Are you coming to this touching occasion?’ His voice was amused, but he stood as if his bones were welded together, and his skin was the colour of beeswax.
‘Me?’ said Ludovico da Bologna. ‘I, thank God, am not a St Pol or a Vasquez or a Lusignan. By the way, you don’t need to pay me for lodging. I got that in advance from the Palace.’
He turned away. Niccolò let fall his cloak and said, ‘Diniz. You tried to see your grandfather? Who else did you talk to?’
His face must have changed, because before he could answer, vander Poele said, ‘Never mind.’
Since the Adorno arrived, it had been evident to Nicholas that some such meeting was about to take place, although he had thought (as he always tended to think) that he would be confronted by Simon. He had known that he would be unfit, but not that he would be strapped in so many places with bandaging. Finding clothes to accommodate it all had been a nuisance, and tiring, but he had faced magistrates before in a shakier state. He had faced Tzani-bey, and defeated him. But Tzani-bey was not related to him, which had made it simpler.
The apartment they were taken to was the one to which he had been brought, fettered, sixteen months ago. As before, the walls were hung with silk and with carpets; the service table laden with silver; the red and blue bird shifted from leg to leg on its perch. The woman called Comomutene, or Cropnose, sat as before in her high